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Updated: June 28, 2025
Love's thrilling sympathies, affections pure, All that endear'd and hallow'd your lost home, Shall on a broad foundation, firm and sure, Establish peace; the wilderness become, Dear as the distant land you fondly prize, Or dearer visions that in memory rise.
Thou soft-flowing Avon, by thy silver stream Of things more than mortal sweet Shakespeare would dream The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, For hallow'd the turf is which pillow'd his head.
How delightfully the imagination, when wrought upon by these moral influences, turns everything to melody and beauty: The very crowing of the cock, who is sometimes heard in the profound repose of the country, "telling the night-watches to his feathery dames," was thought by the common people to announce the approach of this sacred festival: "Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome then no planets strike, No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time."
"The throng that mourn'd, as their dead favorite pass'd, The grac'd respect that claim'd him to the last; While Shakspeare's image, from its hallow'd base, Seem'd to prescribe the grave and point the place."
Glenvarloch, though without the devotion of the "injured Thales" of the moralist, to the memory of that great princess, had now attained "The hallow'd soil which gave Eliza birth," whose halls were now less respectably occupied by her successor.
Hail, hallow'd evening! sacred hour to me! Thy clouds of grey, thy vocal melody, Thy dreamy silence oft to me have brought A sweet exchange from toil to peaceful thought. Ye purple heavens! how often has my eye, Wearied with its long gaze on drudgery, Look'd up and found refreshment in the hues That gild thy vest with colouring profuse!
Pilgrim, revere their dust, and strew One flow'ret on this lowly tomb; Then say unto thy sons, "For you, "Children of France! they braved their doom." Thou fatal, hallow'd spot of earth, Immortal shrines shall mark thy place! Alas! what genius, valour, worth, Lie mouldering in thy narrow space!
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